


Got Me Dreamin' of That Purple Sky

by lookingskyward



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bruce Banner Needs a Hug, Clint Barton is Bad at Feelings, Eventual Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, These Boys are a MESS, communicating through notes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-19
Updated: 2017-03-19
Packaged: 2018-10-07 23:55:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10372800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lookingskyward/pseuds/lookingskyward
Summary: It starts with a purple post-it note.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally written for the Avengers Kink Meme like four years ago but I never finished it - until now. The prompt, which has long since been lost to the sands of time, was something along the lines of Clint and Bruce falling in love through notes. I'm not great at writing fluff, so there's a touch of angst thrown in.

The first note Clint finds is taped on the coffee maker.

‘ _Tsunami in Indonesia, doctors needed._ ’

Clint recognizes the cramped handwriting immediately as Banner’s – difficult to read, taking up as little space as possible, maddeningly vague; all things that describe the doctor perfectly – and lets loose a sigh. It’s been months since the battle with Loki and Clint was beginning to hope that they wouldn't have to worry about the doctor running off to third world shitholes anymore. Evidently he doesn't know Banner as well as he thinks he does.

He’s heard about the damage the tsunami caused on the news, however, so he guesses he can understand this one time. He turns on his heel and walks back out of the kitchen.

He forgets to grab some coffee.

 

 

The next time Clint catches sight of a purple post-it note, he sort of knows what to expect. This one is taped to the fridge. He shuffles over to read it.

‘ _Earthquake in Argentina._ ’

Bruce Banner, the goddamned Good Samaritan. Clint groans. 

The scientist is too busy playing doctor in disaster-ravished countries to even see how much of a disaster he’s leaving behind every time he disappears. This little stint in Argentina has him gone for nearly a month, and everything falls to shit. Thor keeps insisting that Banner is in danger and needs rescuing. Captain Rogers is constantly reading and watching the news for any signs of him. Stark is even more annoying than usual, claiming that he can’t “science without his science bro!” and spends more time pacing in the living room than working in his lab. Hell, even Natasha is worried though she hides it better. When Banner finally shows back up, he’s a little worse for wear. Exhausted, filthy, half-starved, but smiling none the less.

Clint kind of wants to punch him.

 

 

A few weeks later, Clint stumbles upon another note stuck to a glass (Clint’s novelty Green Arrow coffee mug, specifically) in the cupboard. Clint frowns at the placement. Banner tends to leave his notes in obvious places, where they will be easily spotted. This is different. It makes Clint’s stomach ache unpleasantly. 

‘ _I need to leave for a while._ ’

What, no village to save? Clint feels his jaw tighten. He rips the note from the mug and crushes it in his fist. He doesn’t know why he's so angry. Banner can do whatever he damn well pleases and he’s certainly earned himself some vacation time. But it still ruffles Clint’s metaphorical feathers.

Something about it just seems kinda… selfish. Like if he isn’t saving the world, then why the hell does he feel the need to leave without telling anyone? He’s been making strides towards being more trusting and friendly with the Team, and this feels like a step backwards somehow. Clint can make himself understand the other escapades because Banner actually had good reasons. But he doesn’t understand this weird vanishing act shit. It shouldn’t even matter but it _does_ (and he’s not ready to examine that too closely yet).

After a full minute of tense silence, Clint finally wills himself to move. He tosses the crumpled purple note into the trash and stalks out of the kitchen.

He doesn’t allow himself to register the emotion welling in his chest that feels suspiciously like betrayal.

 

 

‘ _I know you’re the one that’s been finding my notes._ ’

The next note is placed up in the vent systems, near one of Clint’s many “nests”. Clint vaguely wonders how the doctor was able to find any of his secret entrances, but pushes that thought away in favour of wondering how Banner knows about the notes. One of the others probably told him, though Clint doesn’t remember telling anyone about finding that last note in the cupboard. 

He pulls out a pad of orange post-its and a chewed-to-hell-and-back pencil from the duffle bag he carries to each of his “nests” and writes his own note. 

' _How did you know? And why do you leave all the time?_ '

He rips it from the pad and crawls through the vents in the direction of Banner’s room. 

The room is dark when he drops in from the ceiling. He takes a look around. It’s massive, like everything in Stark Tower, and, as Clint discovers when he flips the light switch on, nearly empty. There's a huge bed in the center, a beautifully crafted mahogany desk facing the window, and a matching bookshelf along the far wall. That's it. Clint knows that, when he's actually home, Banner hardly ever leaves the lab, so he shouldn't be surprised about the lack of personality his room has. 

But he is. It's just so _lifeless_. Like Banner is afraid to make himself comfortable. Like he doesn't think he'll be staying long enough. It makes Clint's stomach knot up.

He shuts the light off and sticks his note to the switch.

 

 

Clint's just gotten home from a week long mission when he finds the next note. It's stuck to the door of his personal equipment room. 

' _I just guessed. Sometimes I just need some space._ '

Clint frowns tiredly. He stashes away his bow and quiver. Stretches his back out with a loud yawn. Then he slowly makes his way to Banner's portion of the tower. He's about to let himself into the doctor's empty bedroom when he suddenly gets a better idea. He smirks a little to himself and starts walking in the opposite direction until he's face-to-face with a thick metal door. It leads to the 'Hulk Out' room, as Stark likes to call it. He built it especially for when the big guy wants to come out and play. 

Clint punches in the security code – 06082008 or as Stark dubbed it, ‘the beginning of Hulkmania’ – on a keypad to the left of the door, and it slides open. The room is huge and completely empty, made of reinforced steel and titanium. It's built to take a beating. Banner had barely been able to contain his embarrassment and gratitude when Stark had first revealed the room. 

Clint remembers how attractive he looked, a blush across his cheeks and a tiny smile on his lips. It brings a grin to Clint's own face. He pulls the pad of orange post-it notes and the now broken pencil out of his back pocket and quickly jots down his message. 

' _What's wrong with staying here? There's plenty of room._ '

He sticks the note just inside of the door and walks back to his room. He throws himself on his bed and barely has time to kick off his boots before sleep claims him.

He dreams of shy smiles and empty rooms.

 

 

' _The big guy gets claustrophobic sometimes._ '

This time the purple post-it is stuck to the center of a target in his archery room. Clint almost doesn't notice it until he's about to start training and it catches his eye. He doesn't know how to feel about the doctor's response. He gets in maybe fifteen minutes of practice before he gives up. He’s just too fucking distracted. He stores his bow and heads back to his room to shower. 

Once he's feeling refreshed, he takes another look at the note. After re-reading a few more times, Clint thinks he's beginning to understand. Banner’s really talking about himself. It makes sense considering how long the guy's been on the run. How long it's been since he's had a place to call 'home'. 

Clint places his note on Banner's workbench in his deserted lab.

' _Okay, I get it. I just wish you wouldn't be gone for so long._ '

 

 

When Clint finds the next note, tucked away in his gym locker, his heart drops.

' _Why does it matter? I'm not really needed anyway. You guys got this Avengers thing pretty well covered._ '

He wants to punch Banner for being so goddamned _blind_. The guy is always so caught up in his anger and self-hatred that he can't see how wrong he is. Clint knows that he thinks the Avengers only keep him around because of the Hulk. But it's so much more than that. Why can't he see how much he, Bruce Banner, means to them? 

To _Clint_? 

Clint pauses for a second at that revelation. When did he start feeling that way towards the doctor? He doesn't really see him that much outside of missions, since Banner is rarely ever around. Hardly ever talks to him. It doesn't make sense. Clint pushes it aside like all emotions that he doesn't understand, doesn't want to deal with. Then he slips out of the gym, heading back to his room. 

It's three in the morning and Clint is exhausted. His mind begins to wander as he walks down the dark hallways. Suddenly, a door catches his attention and he stops to look at it. It's as non-descript as any other door in the Tower – he's certainly never noticed it before. But, somehow, he knows exactly where it leads. On the other side lies Banner's 'Zen Den' (another annoyingly catchy Stark-ism); the room he uses to meditate. Clint stares at the door, contemplating it. He's not sure if he wants to open it. 

It feels wrong, somehow. Like he's invading Banner's privacy (he chooses not to remember sneaking into Banner's other rooms. This is _different_ , he tells himself). This is the only place in the entire Avenger's Tower that the poor guy can be completely by himself. At peace. It's an unspoken rule amongst the team that no one disturbs the doctor when he's in this room. In fact, only Banner and Stark (and probably Natasha, because she’s _Natasha_ ) even knew where it was until now. 

When Clint finally pulls himself out of his own head, he finds himself with his ear pressing against the door. He knows he won't hear anything – the doctor's been gone for nearly five days – but it's comforting nonetheless. He takes the post-it notes and pencil from his jacket pocket and scribbles his response. 

' _It matters because I care about you._ '

He stays pressed against the door for the rest of the night.

 

 

Three days later, Clint stumbles upon the next note while on the roof. It’s become a sort of game to him – like Where’s Waldo, except with notes. But he’s never had a response this quickly before. It catches him off guard. 

He’s the only person who ever comes up to the tippy-top. The only one who feels completely at peace amongst the clouds. He knows how uncomfortable heights make the scientist, so he can’t comprehend why the typically nervous man would leave his response here of all places.

Clint suddenly doesn’t want to read it. Something about it – how it flutters so innocently in the breeze – makes his limbs feel heavy. He eventually forces his legs to move and plucks the paper from the entryway. 

It takes him a second to make out the shakier-than-usual chicken scratch.

‘ _Why?_ ’

How can one simple, insignificant word be so weighted?

Clint’s eyes begin to burn, but he doesn’t really notice. Just stares out over the skyline of Manhattan until long after the sun has gone down. He comes back to himself when he feels the first drops of rain hit his cheeks. Looks down to see the paper still clenched in his fist. He briefly toys with the idea of burning it – even fingers his SHIELD issued lighter – but, in the end, he simply holds it over the edge and lets go. He then heads back inside, not bothering to watch it sail away.

_Why?_

He stops by his room to write his response. It takes him a while to come up with something that covers what he’s feeling, everything he wants to say. He tosses around quotes, song lyrics, even poetry. But nothing fits. Nothing sounds like _Clint_. 

In the end, he lets his hand do the thinking. ‘ _Because I love you._ ’

It’s strange at first, writing those three words. He expects it to feel like a contract, like signing his life away. But the more he says it to himself, the more Clint realizes that it’s the god honest truth. He slips out of his room and heads for the elevator. Rides it all the way down the garage, trying not to let his nerves get the best of him. 

When the doors finally slide open, he takes a deep breath and steps out. The garage is filled with expensive sports cars, motorcycles, speedboats, and even a limo or two (“ _for nights on the town, Captain I-Don’t-Like-to-Have-Fun_ ”). 

Clint looks past all the testaments to Stark’s considerable fortune to one particular vehicle. It’s easily the cheapest, most rickety piece of shit in the entire building but it holds a great deal of sentimental value. It’s the scooter Banner rode in on during the battle for Manhattan. He got it from some random guy in Jersey, whom he’s probably not seen since. Apparently the guy gave him one hell of a pep talk or something. Clint doesn’t really get it but he can appreciate its worth nonetheless.

Clint sidles up to it, appraises it, before sticking his confession to the tiny dashboard. 

_Because._

 

 

These last seventeen hours thirty-two minutes and six seconds have been the most agonizing seventeen hours thirty-two minutes and six seconds of Clint’s entire life (not that he’s been counting). Even worse than that time he and some fresh-faced rookie were captured and tortured for twenty-two straight hours while on a mission in Somalia. Clint would rather face angry pirates again than suffer another minute of this _not knowing_. 

He downs the rest of his beer – imported from Italy with a flashy name he can’t even begin to pronounce but he suspects it translates into ‘expensive’ – and slumps against the counter. He stays like that for a while, watching the shadows crawl further up the walls, until he hears footsteps coming towards him from across the room. 

“Uh. Clint?” Bruce Banner says hesitantly.

Clint grips the empty bottle in his hand so tightly it’s a miracle it doesn’t shatter. Suddenly, he realizes that his palms are sweaty and he hasn’t showered in two days and he can’t remember if he brushed his teeth earlier or not. Suddenly, he’s not at all ready to have this conversation. He swallows hard, hoping like hell he doesn’t smell like he crawled out of a sewer, and turns on his stool to face Banner. His vocal cords don’t seem to want to function correctly so he raises his empty hand in greeting. 

The scientist stands there for a long moment, shoulders hunched, hands in his pockets. “I, uh, got your note,” He says at length, a red tinge to his cheeks.

“Oh.” Clint manages weakly, his own face heating up. He sets the empty bottle on the counter and stands up to face rejection like a man. “Look—”

“Did you mean it?” Banner interrupts and he’s holding up the damning, slightly crumpled orange note. 

“I — uh, yeah.” Clint says dumbly, then clears his throat and tries again. “Yes.”

Banner runs the hand not holding the note through his hair, mussing it further. “I – I don’t know what to say.”

Clint swallows down the disappointment, fighting to keep it out of his words. “Listen, you don’t have to say anything. I’m sorry.”

Banner shakes his head and rubs at the back of his neck nervously. “Wait, that came out wrong. What I meant is that I’m not good at saying stuff. Uh, what I mean is that I’m flattered – no wait, that’s not right. Christ, I should’ve just written a note. Um,” He stops and takes a deep breath, his face bright red now. “Would you like to have dinner with me sometime? It’s okay if you don’t want to. Why am I so bad at this…”

And Clint can do nothing for a moment except stare at the flustered man in front of him. Suddenly there’s this big dumb grin on his face that he can’t control and he feels all the stress and worries bleed out through his fingertips when he gently grasps Bruce’s shoulder. “I’d like that a lot,” He says and, okay, it’s about the lamest thing he could’ve said but when Bruce’s eyes light up, he can’t bring himself to care.


End file.
